you can't melt the snow
by Wintry Leen
Summary: She will miss his warmth. Touka/Kaneki. Touka-centric. Oneshot. #24 [based on Tokyo Ghoul A, ep.1]


**A/n:** I was listening to Against the Current's _Gravity_ and I figured I should probably do something about _this_ pain the 1st ep of the 2nd season (and life in general) give me. I haven't read the manga so this work is prone to character inconsistency. Apologies. Also for **remembrancedreamer **(on Tumblr) because I wouldn't know TG if not for her.

Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Tokyo Ghoul.

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><p><em>you can't melt the snow<em>

With her own blood oozing from her mouth, there's no longer anything stopping her from thinking about her end. The metallic taste is the same, always familiar because it's her life, but it still feels foreign, and she decides she doesn't like the taste of her blood.

A part of her believes that her brother is still the brother she knew before, but she's in too much pain – definitely not physically – that she hopes she can be done for in one final blow. She doesn't want to see him like this.

She waits for his hard-hitting verdict, but there's a sudden movement, and she feels light, fresh breeze slapping against her skin and warmth seeping through her. She feels safe, cradled. Fitting, she admits, because she really is fragile.

She flickers her eyes open and looks up. His hair is not black. His eye patch, discarded somewhere. And his eyes...

But seeing is recognition, and she just knows it is him because he is never not there for her.

Then he looks at her with those eyes: worry on the surface and probably regret in a deeper shade. He apologizes, and she can't help hating him all over again because she can't forgive him if he can't do it himself.

(Why are you such an idiot?)

She can go on a careless tirade, but the pain she can't subdue wins and forces her lids to shut.

...

She waits in the falling snow: blinding but equally gentle. When he arrives, she sees things more clearly: his hands that now hold a mask, his feet with black toe nails unprotected from the snow, and again, his hair that used to be black. Its color would've been a funny contrast to this enveloping whiteness, she wants to say but doesn't.

(Hey, you, when you get back, do something about that hair.)

She waits for a response, but he doesn't even look at her, so she begins to explain that he can't just stick out like that in the shop. What she doesn't say is that girls would definitely flock around him now – and that's quite bothering. She will never admit that she possesses that kind of an irrational sentiment though.

But she's met with silence again, and she feels the simultaneity of distance and proximity.

(Touka-chan.)

He pauses yet again, and she almost starts to count the snowdrops coming down. But she soon regrets wishing for him to speak upon hearing the words he willingly drops next.

(I'm no longer going back to Anteiku. I'm going over to Aogiri).

Her eyes widen, and her breath, almost arrested.

(What do you mean...)

It's an automatic question because she hopes that everything is only his attempt at humor.

But there's only silence and waiting. She then realizes she really is fragile – his rescue doesn't even make a difference now.

He turns away and starts taking steps. Away from her. She instinctively starts to her feet and staggers forward to catch up, but her feet don't seem to be hitting the ground because why can't she reach him.

She puts her arms forward helplessly, wanting to pull him back, as amiable memories start flashing into her mind and his calming voice echoes through his head and there's only Kaneki, Kaneki – goddamit, she used to be the one pushing him away!

She feels the cruelty of hope tantalizing her: she still sees him – he's not gone so far yet – but she can't just reach him, and she can't do anything.

She gradually comes to a halt, and her knees give in. She looks desperately at his retreating back – his whole form now dissolving into the glacial darkness – until it's too much.

She thinks back on that instance of him holding her battered form, and she feels warm despite the realization that his warmth is only a memory now, no longer a part of her reality. She thinks she feels something warm against her cheeks, but she figures the snow isn't melting, and everything freezes up, one way or another.

**...**

_**Fin.**_


End file.
